Chestpains
by ShimmyStack
Summary: Based on true events; not much goes on in a hospital if you don't get to know anyone.
1. Chapter 1

"Another day in the hospital, yay." - my thoughts as I awoke from a dream that had escaped me, the whole place smelt of sickness.

bleach and illness, and death.  
>Faded paintings of clowns and cartoonish animals filled the walls, I may as well be in the morgue, it'd be more inviting.<br>The only sounds were those of machinery, the dull volume of a television and the cough of a patient here and there.

I glanced over to the bed beside me. A young boy with tangled dark hair that hung beside his face.  
>His skin was ghostly pale and oddly transparent on his arms, a faded life, his only movements would be the infrequent stir in his sleep and the laboured breathing that moved his chest.<p>

I felt sorry for him. He was much worse than me. I glanced at the tubes that slung from his arm to the drip above his bed.  
>His family rarely visited, he barely spoke to anyone, and if he did, it would only be softly.<br>I wondered, if there was a God, how could he possibly do this to someone so innocent? 


	2. Chapter 2

The moment he awoke, he jolted from his sleeping position.  
>He coughed and choked but regained his breath.<p>

_I remembered it so vividly.  
><em>I gave him a concerned look. He avoided eye-contact.

"Are you okay?" I broke the silence.  
>"Just fine." He murmured.<br>"So what's your name?"  
>"Might as well be called: deceased." He snapped back, angrily.<br>"I didn't mean to cause an argument; I just wanted to get to know someone."

I stared at the nearly mute television. Nothing on, as usual.  
>A few seconds of silence followed until he spoke again;<br>"Mitchell."  
>"Your name's Mitchell?" I asked.<br>"Yeah."  
>"Hey Mitchell, I'm Emma. I'd shake your hand but that'd involve getting up and walking over."<br>He smiled, he's good with dark humour, obviously.  
>"So what are you in for?" his witty response.<br>"The big 'C', you?" I said, dryly.  
>"Yeah, me too."<br>"Aren't we a healthy lot?" I said as I laughed and pushed back my long brown hair.

_dear lord, I miss it._

"Want to rent a DVD player? I've got a few movies." He interrupted my thoughts.  
>"yeah, sure." I smiled. <p>


	3. Chapter 3

Film after film, night after night. I got to know him more. He was the only company I had during the week. When the weekends came, my parents would visit and he would sit there watching in envy as someone else gave me attention. I never noticed how much it actually hurt him.

_Maybe you should've considered him, maybe you should've cared.  
><em>  
>I began to feel better over the weeks, but every day I'd lie in bed and watch whatever film he chose, then we'd discuss it 'till the early hours of the morning. I hardly slept, and he wouldn't go to sleep until I did. I was all he had.<p>

The first movie he chose was _The Wizard of Oz_, yeah I know it seems kind of lame, but it was one of those movies I'd watched as a child and never fully appreciated, I just thought it was a lot of fun at the time.  
>We'd talk about things like, the removed scenes. The props from the film that we'd seen in the background of newer films, like a hidden surprise just to make the observant feel rewarded.<br>By the third week we'd tired out that movie. We knew every minute detail of it, every word, every scene. We considered ourselves experts.

"I've never actually noticed any of these things, and I probably never would have if not for you, Mitchell." I laughed.  
>He smiled as he watched me tap my nails along the side-table in a certain pattern.<br>"I never would've had the chance to show anyone if not for you." He said softly.

It saddened me to think that someone with such a genuine spirit was stuck here like this. Being a teenager, I'd expected him to be rude and rebellious, as I was about twelve at the time.  
>But he didn't fit the stereotype. He was a 15-16 year old with the soul of a wise man.<p>

"What movie should we destroy next?" he giggled.  
>"You pick." I replied. "You have fantastic taste."<p>

After each night, I would hear him stir in his sleep, he had awful nightmares. He would sometimes wake up out of them in a cold sweat, and cry himself back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

He asked the nurse to put in _Holes._  
>I hadn't seen it at the time but the book was great. I thought I'd give it a go.<p>

We discussed it's quality, how a bigger-budget film would've spoiled the idea of it.  
>We were about to watch it for I think, the fourth time, when the nurse entered.<p>

"Mitchell, we need to just have a look at something, okay?" she announced, with a worried tone.  
>"Uh... yeah, sure." He replied quietly.<p>

They drew the curtains that surrounded his bed. I pretended it didn't bother me to be alone.  
>I heard them muttering about him. Something about surveillance. Something about twenty-four hours...<br>_I was never smart enough to put it all together.  
><em>  
>They re-opened the curtains and exited the room as Mitchell rolled down his sleeves.<p>

"What was all that about?" I said with a laugh in my tone.  
>"Never mind," he laughed, "Nothing too crucial."<p>

His smile comforted me for now. His jagged canine teeth usually stuck out when he smiled, and given his pale appearance and physique, anyone would've mistaken him for Dracula.  
>His pale green eyes lowered from my face to the floor.<br>"Whoa, kind of dizzy there." He slurred.  
>"Are you okay?" I panicked.<br>"I will be, don't worry."  
>"Okay..."<p>

About an hour passed.

"Can I ask, What are your nightmares about?" I said softly.  
>"Usually just things I've thought about too much. I over think quite a lot." He whispered back.<br>"Is there no way to avoid it?"  
>"Avoid my thoughts? Not unless I don't have a brain." He laughed.<br>"Haha, yeah. Then I'd have no one to talk to."  
><strong>"<strong>_**But some people without have brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?"**_ He laughed, mocking The Scarecrow from _The Wizard of Oz._  
>"That's definitely my favourite character." I smiled. He smiled back and rolled over to get some sleep.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Seven weeks passed.

We had exhausted just about every movie. We had discussed it all, from _The Wizard of Oz_ to _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre._ He began to deal with his nightmares, by distracting himself before sleeping. He even started looking better.

**Everything seemed perfect, until my parents arrived on a Tuesday...**

"Hey, honey!" said mum.  
>"What's going on?" I queried, "Don't you usually work today?"<br>Mitchell looked up to observe the conversation.  
>"Yeah, usually. But you're coming home today!" my mother said with a smile.<br>_My heart sank.  
><em>"Wh-what? Today? Like, right now?" I didn't know whether to be shocked or devastated.  
>Who would've actually thought I would enjoy a stay in a hospital?<br>But at that moment, I was relieved; I hugged my mum in excitement and cried. She began to pack my things.

I left my bed, and walked over to Mitchell's and grabbed his hand.  
>"Hey, guess I'm finally getting out of here, eh?" I whispered.<br>"Yeah. It's great." He said in a monotone voice.  
>"What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy for me?" my voice shook, "I'll come visit you."<br>"No you won't. You'll forget me like _they_ did." He turned away. I couldn't help but burst into tears.  
>"I swear on my life that I'll come visit you." <p>

I left the hospital and went home. My mum had tidied my room, and as I went in, it didn't feel like home. I had this daunting feeling, like I'd left something important at the hospital. _I had..._

I got into bed.  
>"Do you want a movie on?" mum asked.<br>"Yeah, put on _The Wizard of Oz_." I smiled.

Halfway through watching it, I turned it off. _**It wasn't the same without him there.**_


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks after being home, I had settled in, and I had decided to visit Mitchell.

I went into the ward where we had stayed, but he wasn't there. So I asked for him at the desk.  
>The nurse gave me a concerned glance and dryly said; "he's in the intensive care ward."<p>

My chest ached. I couldn't breathe.  
>I felt dizzy for a second but worrying about him snapped me out of it.<p>

I ran to the ward, and saw him lying in a bed by the window. A tube escaped his nose that was connected to a machine. A drip hung from each arm. and bandages over his wrists. A nurse entered.  
>"He tried to kill himself, we don't know where he got the knife." She said while picking up a tray.<br>"Mitchell, why?" I sobbed, falling to the seat next to him.  
>"My parents are dead, and I was so alone. You left. I didn't expect you to come back. I expected you to be happy." He croaked.<br>"You expected me to forget about you and just leave?" tears fell onto the floor beside me.  
>"Everyone else did." He grinned, oddly, "But I guess you're not everyone else."<br>"If you only had a brain, you'd know that." I smiled, hoping he'd catch on to my movie reference.  
>"If only." He smiled.<p>

I sat there talking to him for a good few hours. Until visiting hours had ended, then I rang my mother and she took me home.

The next day, I visited again. I sat with him and watched _The Wizard of Oz, _I think it was basically his favourite movie. He fell asleep just before the end, and I sat on my seat just staying there with him for almost an hour.

Then he started to stir again. He cried in his sleep, and tossed. By the time he woke he had worked himself up to the point that he was hyperventilating. He caught his breath and tried to relax.

"Over thinking again?" I asked, concerned.  
>"Yeah. It'll be the death of me." He laughed.<br>"I have to go, but I won't be gone for too long." I promised, and said goodbye.


	7. Chapter 7

I continued to visit Mitchell every two days for the next five weeks.  
>I watched his beautiful thick brown hair fall out, and I watched his gorgeous olive skin become a deathly white.<br>I watched the tubes and the injections, the tests and the therapies.

About four days after my thirteenth birthday, I went to visit him.  
>He handed me my present, but was so weak from the tests and his laboured breathing that he fell asleep after only an hour of talking to him.<br>The present contained a copy of the book: _Holes, by Louis Sachar _and a doll of _The Scarecrow_ from the film _The Wizard of Oz._

I came to visit him the next day, to be told that he had seized during a nightmare and died in his sleep. At the funeral service, it rained. It easily disguised the tears.

In the end; it might not have been the cancer that took him, it could very well have been his thoughts.

I went home and opened the box that concealed The Scarecrow doll. He was the sort of doll that you'd press a button and he'd speak quotes from the movie.

I sat on the bathroom floor, I pushed a razor into my wrist and curled into a ball.  
>When I pressed the button on the doll, and he sang;<p>

_**I could wile away the hours.  
>Conferrin' with the flowers.<br>Consultin' with the rain.**_

_**And my head, I'd be scracthin',  
>While my thoughts were busy hatchin',<strong>_

_**If I only had a brain.**_


End file.
